


Josiah

by MisMiz (Jaaaaack51)



Series: Perchance to Dream [6]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Magnificent Seven AU: ATF, Religious Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-15
Updated: 2015-10-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 13:30:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5006554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaaaaack51/pseuds/MisMiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the road to madness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Josiah

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Josiah. He is the outlier of this dream series.

He could hear the whispers. Taunting. Mocking. Insubstantial. They eluded his grasp as if they were nothing more than smoke and mirrors. And perhaps they were. He was never quite sure if they were a product of his imagination or if people really were talking behind his back as he passed.

The elevator ascended to the eleventh floor and he stepped off, relieved to be in familiar territory. In a place where the whispers were muted. The whole drive over to ATF headquarters had seemed slightly unreal. Nothing quite as he remembered. He had wondered if perhaps this was all a dream and he would wake to find himself in the hot, suffocating air of India with the sounds of his Father's ranting filtering through the flimsy walls of the hut.  
  
Or maybe he was just crazy. Like... No. He couldn't think about that. It wouldn't happen to him. He wasn't alone. Wasn't weak.

He opened the door leading into the offices of The Magnificent Seven ATF team, longing for the solid comfort of his desk. The reassurance that came with having a place. A purpose. As long as he had that, he couldn't be crazy. Could he?

Silence greeted him as he walked in and headed in the direction of his desk. He paused halfway there. Silence was not something natural in this place. Not with Buck and JD's near constant horseplay. Or Ezra's incessant complaints. Or Chris Larabee's stern voice barking orders. He slowly turned and surveyed the room. JD was edging towards Chris's office door. Vin and Ezra were exchanging glances, eyes heavy with emotion. Buck was staring fixedly at his desk. Nathan had taken a hesitant step in his direction, a look of determined sadness on his face. It was to him, Josiah's oldest friend, that the ex-preacher appealed.

"Nathan? What's wrong with everyone? Why are you all staring at me?" He could hear the edge of panic and hysteria in the question. Judging from the expressions on the faces of his friends, they heard it as well.

"It's ok, Josiah. We're your friends. We'll help you." Nathan spoke soothingly, as one might speak to a wild animal. Or a crazy person, the whispers jeered at him.

Josiah opened his mouth, intending to assure his friends that everything was fine. That **he** was fine. To his horror, the voice that came out of his mouth did not belong to him. It was like listening to the ghost of his father, ranting and raving. Only it was Josiah Sanchez who was standing here, saying these awful things. Josiah who could see the looks of pain, regret, and pity etched on the faces of the other men.

"Hell. Sinners. There is not one among you who is worthy of redemption. I shall cleanse this city of evil and filth. Only goodness shall remain." His voice went on and on and he was helpless. Unable to stop the mad ramblings. 

Chris Larabee strode out of his office, followed closely by JD. At the sight of their leader, Josiah was almost able to break free of this insane stranger who had taken control of his body and his mind. But an anguished "Chris" was all he was able to say before he was again locked away in his own mind. A witness to the awful, terrible sounds of his voice. A silent spectator to his own breakdown. 

It took the combined efforts of Chris and the others to subdue him until the ambulance arrived. They had no choice. Not once he had begun attempting to tear down the walls in his efforts to destroy them. His friends. Now his enemies, according to his diseased mind. The small, sane part of him that was still there wished he could tell them he understood. That he didn't blame them for what they had to do. The looks of anguish on their faces was almost more than he could bear. And was that a hint of tears in JD's eyes? 

He lay on the stretcher, strapped to a gurney. On his way to a place where they took care of people like him. Locked them away. He was no longer able to scream on the outside as his body was slowly overcome by the injection they'd given him. But inside, he was still screaming. Would forever scream.  
****************************  
Josiah Sanchez sat up in bed, heart pounding, cold sweat making him shiver in spite of the blankets. He struggled to regain his equilibrium. He began half a dozen attempts at prayer, only to abandon them after a few sentences. 

He reached over and turned on the light. The cheerful glow of the bedside lamp anchored him a bit. His breathing slowed and he sighed heavily. He hated this dream. Hated the fear it conjured up from the depths of his soul. The fear that he never allowed himself to acknowledge when he was awake. As if thinking about the possibility of going crazy would actually make it happen. 

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and got slowly to his feet. He grabbed his robe on the way out of the bedroom. He was still feeling a bit chilled. A glass of whiskey would help. And perhaps he would get an early start on some paperwork. For Josiah wanted nothing more of sleep or of dreams. Not tonight.

The End


End file.
